


embers

by demios



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-09-03 03:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16754926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/pseuds/demios
Summary: A home away from home, and then some.





	embers

**Author's Note:**

> i propose that in 5.0 se lets us give sidurgu a kiss

“I never took you for someone who liked hot chocolate.” Sidurgu says as he hands them a mug, taking care not to burn himself. Steam wafts off the surface of its sweet contents, creating a wispy trail in the dim interior of the room. “I usually only keep it around for Rielle.”

“I acquired a taste somewhere along the way.” The Warrior of Light replies with a shrug. They let a pleasant shiver course through themselves with the first sip, closing their eyes when their tired vertebrae is left tingling with the first promise of rest.

The worn couch in Sidurgu’s house seems like an apt place to do just that, their mind faintly tells them as they sink into the cushions. They resist the pull of sleep, however, still hearing noises from the kitchen as Sid makes himself a cup of tea. The warrior focuses on the modest fire keeping the house warm instead, watching the flames dance with each soft crackle. It’s nothing like Fortemps Manor, of course, being tucked into one corner of the Brume. There aren’t any ornate heirlooms furnishing the walls or maidservants waiting on them if they so much as  _ seem _ peckish. But they rather prefer the small space over the estate in the Pillars - the knowledge of Rielle sleeping two rooms over and the scent of cocoa filling their corner of the house puts them at ease more than pretending to be nobility. 

The au ra joins them after a few moments, sitting next to them and taking a generous swig of his own cup. Sidurgu looks a little out of place in the dark without anything sharp or serrated on his person, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. He's shed his cuirass and sabatons, leaving only the layers underneath. They watch the tension ebb from his features and his tail curl around himself, finding it amusing how his body appreciates the warm drink after braving the frigid Coerthan air.

He breaks the comfortable silence after a long moment, setting down his empty cup. “I missed sparring with you.”

The warrior's lips twitch into a smile, thinking of their earlier foray. “Does the sight of me with a sword please you that much?” They ask, hiding behind another sip.

“Maybe. Caladbolg always looks at home with you.” His gaze flicks towards the weapon propped against the wall, a look of distant fondness passing through his eyes for a fraction of a second. 

It was his master’s sword, he said. And one he always thought would be passed to Fray, or used by a better incarnation of himself. But the warrior gave him hope in his darkest hour - just like Ompagne did when they met at the funeral pyre of his family and enemies. He felt the blade would better fit in their hands and carefully lifted it from his locked armoire, unwrapping the cloth he kept it in for years. The lingering tendrils of aether writhing along its length were filled with resolve, with strength, with  _ love _ \- and they had taken well to mingling with the warrior’s own when they grasped the hilt.

(“It's a little romantic, isn't it?” Rielle asked when Sidurgu was out of earshot. “I think he likes you.”

“Which one, the sword or Sid?”

“Both, I’d say.” She spared a glance towards the new weapon on their back. “The aether looks happy with yours.”)

“...I thought you had forsaken the abyss and washed your hands of us when you left the first time,” he confesses, still fixed on Caladbolg’s arches of warped steel. “But just because you walk in light, doesn’t mean you’ve strayed from the path. That much is obvious.” 

He finally turns back to them, his limbal rings bright twin moons on dark sclera. “Though I’ve not been there to see you wield the blade until now, I trust it’s been serving you well when you’ve been keeping busy.”

“I could say the same about you and Deathbringer; I heard you left Ishgard for a good while.” They pause, a hint of mischief tinging their expression. “Hilda told me the streets weren’t the same without you skulking about them.”

Sidurgu kindly ignores the jab. “Rielle spent this past moon in Gridania honing her conjury. As for me… well, despite what others may say, slaying plantkin and vermin in the Twelveswood doesn't exactly keep your skills sharp.” He sighs, and the warrior breathes a laugh. “Although, it seems yours haven’t dulled in the least. That new technique you used - what  _ was _ that?”

“Oh, you mean the shield?” They recall his surprise when his sword landed on impenetrable darkness, and how they took that opportunity to knock him flat, just like he had done to them the first time they crossed blades. He nods.

“The runes look like this,” They say, placing their mug on the ground and fishing through the pack at their side. The warrior pulls out a small, tattered object and places it on their lap - their journal, a personal record of their adventures across the realm scrawled in anything from an ink-stained quill from the Fortemps study to a dusty piece of charcoal left on a tavern table. They take comfort in the way the paper feels over the pads of their fingers, a private reminder of being  _ here _ and  _ alive. _

The warrior flips to an empty page and retrieves a pencil to twirl between their fingers, the tip dull but enough to serve its purpose. They draw a circle, dotting ancient script along its circumference and adding symbols where necessary.

“When you've no gods left to pray to, draw from the brightest embers of the flame and let every shadow cast swallow you.” They murmur as they connect the last letters together. “You let the veil fall over yourself, like usual. Or you can use it to protect someone else. I’ve been calling it  _ The Blackest Night. _ ”

Sidurgu’s eyes widen slightly; he's become used to the way fragments from his past have become theirs, but it's no less surprising to hear words from a moment he's immortalized within his vows. “I see…” 

“Here, try for yourself.” They turn the weathered journal page towards him and he shuffles closer, almost making their knees touch. 

Sid brings a hand over the circle, letting his aether tangle with the drawing. An echo of the runes lifts from the paper, a black, squirming ghost that slithers across his arm like a serpent made of script. It glows faintly as it forms an ouroboros, finally dissipating in his palm. He closes his hand, remembering the etchings.

He meets their gaze, silently asking for permission. The warrior only cocks their head curiously, expectant.

He casts it on them experimentally, the small circle of shifting letters and symbols stemming from his wrist. The shield is incomplete but they still feel fiercely guarded by his flame- they can tell his is like a shell of molten steel, burning slowly as it falls over them with sparks of deep red. The curtain of black radiates a faint heat from where they sit and they think it would be hot to the touch, like the rest of his aether when it roars forth and licks his blade like fire. 

The second their eyes dare to fall shut to savor the sensation of being protected, it ends, and the room comes back into view.

“Strange to think you're the one teaching me this time.” Sidurgu says once the carapace fades into nothingness.

They hum in agreement, remembering the au ra’s lessons as they fold their journal back into their belongings. The notes of his ruthless training are also hidden within its pages, as well as their journey to uncover the truth of Rielle’s plight and more along the way.

“I may not be able to teach you anymore, but if you need anything, you just have to ask. I relied on you heavily when I came to you with Rielle. It's only fair that I’m able to do the same for you… as a fellow walker of the path.” The last part is added as an afterthought.

“Haven’t you done that already?” They ask, thinking of the strange pilgrimage they took at the behest of Myste. Nearly dying at the hands of their unruly aether seemed like a large enough favor to even things out.

“I want to be someone you can lean on, is what I’m trying to say. With or without cracked soul crystals.” His piercing gaze bores into them directly this time. “You don't have to pretend you're impervious to everything.”

The warrior feels the tail-end of deja vu at the stern words; it’s starting to feel a little like the scolding he gave over a Temple Knight’s bloodied sword. But they know he’s said this before, the pleading look that’s crept into his eyes familiar to the ghost of someone before them. Fray, who seemed to be a force straight from the abyss, died like everyone else. It’s no wonder he’d think the same of Hydaelyn’s beloved champion. 

“Rielle worries when you keep coming back with new injuries and scars.” Sid frowns slightly, and the warrior feels another twinge of guilt. The girl gasped at their newest addition, one they’d gotten from lands across the sea. The scar tissue looked like a swollen root from their rashness, and only then did they think to curse themselves for not resting properly. “She’s taken up conjury to heal mine, but she wants to heal yours, too.”

“And you?”

“A dark knight without scars is no dark knight at all.” He says plainly. “But there  _ is _ such a thing as overdoing it.”

“Then I’ll take you up on that offer.” They say, lips curving upwards into a slight smile. “The leaning thing.” 

They lean their weight against him, resting their heavy head for as long as he will allow. He stiffens at the sudden contact, but then an arm tentatively wraps around their shoulder, keeping them steady. 

Sidurgu holds them close, finding no fault in the way the hero of the realm appears tired and vulnerable. He knows of their suffering and will not ask for more; he’s no stranger to this, the way heroes of light and pariahs from the shadows are fallible,  _ mortal.  _ The warrior wants to engrave his presence in their aether, to carry with them the vague sense of being safe and home even though they can only stay for a few days at best. 

If they were younger, they’d reconsider the question on their tongue. But they've learned to simply take the plunge, because they court death regularly and are not wont to leave regrets stirring within their breast. Not after all that’s transpired since they’ve borne an impossible mantle. “...Hey, Sid? Can I kiss you?” 

The way Sidurgu chokes on his own spit is unexpected, to say the least. It takes him several seconds to regain a semblance of composure, and when he speaks, it’s no less inelegant. “I... suppose?” 

The warrior only blinks at him, one brow quirking. The arm around them falls away as he starts gesticulating in an attempt to explain himself.

“I mean - it’s not like you’re asking to, say,  _ stab me  _ or anything, and I do think you’re... pleasant to look at?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before giving an answer. “I wouldn’t mind it.” 

Perhaps coming from someone else they'd be offended, but it's  _ Sidurgu _ and his way of approaching things that don’t pertain to inner darkness and sword-swinging. They feel his aether hum in anticipation from how close they are, so they take that as a  _ yes. _

They sit upright again, then place a hand on his knee and draw closer. They can see the ridges of Sid’s horns and the way the dying fire reflects off obsidian patches around his face. He’s gone calm and still, a sign that he's placing a _ hells  _ of a lot of trust in them and their odd whim. His eyes are also closed, and his nose scrunches up the barest amount the longer they watch him.

In the back of their mind, they expected Sidurgu’s lips to be chilled with how the shade resembles fresh snow. But they're pleasantly warm, slightly chapped from the winter wind and his habit of chewing his lip when he's thinking. They let themselves linger for a few moments, then return to where they were sitting.

“You can kiss back, if you want.” The corner of the warrior’s mouth quirks up when they’ve pulled away. “I think it'd be more fun if you did.”

“It’s just… uh, my teeth? They're sharp.” He bites his lip as his brow furrows, one sharp fang visible where it worries the skin. “Might nick you.” 

Part of them wants to tell him they've been bitten by things much deadlier than an overzealous au ra. The other, however, can see the genuine concern in his eyes - he's been taught to kill, to carve and spit, to draw forth from the deepest wells of himself and have it spill forth in a violent flood of black. He hasn't had much of an opportunity to learn gentler things, and what he’s been taught fell through the cracks when his master and Fray took it with them. 

Rielle is starting to fill in the gaps for him again, when she ventures into the Shroud to pick apples or pesters him for a game of Triple Triad before bed. They suppose they should do their part.

“Then what about here?” The warrior creeps a hand towards him where his are tersely folded on his lap, taking one in theirs and pressing their lips to the back of it. They gently brush the collection of scars on his knuckles while holding his callused palm in their own. “Is this okay?”

Sidurgu doesn’t react, save for a light flush that’s settled across his nose. His features are tense and uncomfortable. They decide to take a different approach, setting his hand back down. “What are you thinking about?”

He withdraws his arm out of their grasp, not meeting their searching eyes. They stay like that for a long moment, and the warrior feels they should apologize for crossing the threshold when he wasn’t ready, but he speaks before they can.

“Commune with me.” Sidurgu says, suddenly. “You know I’m no good with words, so… see for yourself.”

They’ve had a taste of this before - it was but a flicker in the Churning Mists, one shaped like a knight, a savior, a father. The warrior had felt somewhat intrusive partaking in the tangled aether, but now Sid sits before them, offering the core of himself laid bare. 

The warrior nods, pressing one hand over his sternum, listening for the tempo of his heart and letting the aether flow between them. His chest rises and falls with them when they breathe deeply once, then  _ twice -  _

They're received by waiting jaws. 

The abyss is an endless black, mired in something thick yet ephemeral when they try to touch it. It fills their lungs and throat remorselessly, smothering them.  _ Fear, anger, pain _ \- things he keeps fresh from memories that rest at the bottom of his soul. The fear of dying, the fear of watching those he keeps close inevitably decay around him, the fear of becoming the monster those damned Temple Knights called his people when he so badly wanted to be gentle like his parents. The pain of losing his family with Nhaama hanging above, silently casting her ghostly light over him and the scorched earth. The pain of losing more still with Halone standing proud and watchful on her pedestal of stone, indifferent to the slaughter within her city’s walls.

But the flame is there, burning in the dark even though it should have been snuffed out long ago. It meets them, cradling their foreign form. It wants them to stay but is careful not to burn, hovering just above the skin and pulling away when it might lick them. They reach forth and purposely let it sear them, wondering just what it holds - it is the first taste of blood with fangs bared, metallic and invigorating on your palate. It is righteous wrath, a penance in flesh and prayers when you deliver judgement in steel. It is screaming for forgiveness until your lungs are fit to burst when your gods have no answer and the deafening silence that follows. It is visceral, volatile, and sets their temples pounding, like a harsh vision from the Echo.

They gasp with their face contorted into a grimace, returning to the surface as the throbbing wanes. Two wide eyes are watching them, the same color as clear, crystalline aether \- 

“ _ Shite! _ ” He hisses, tail thrashing in surprise as he yanks himself back and severs their union. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m fine.” They pull their hand away from where it instinctively held their temple. “Really.”

“I just don't want to hurt you.” Sid says quietly, a slight frown touching his features when his mouth sets into a firm line. “Nor do I want to lose you.”

He stands at the crux of these two hesitations, at the precipice but afraid to fall even when the warrior is before him with open arms. It’s nothing like surrendering to the abyss, wrapped in primal and violent power - if it was something as raw and unforgiving as that, it would be easy. It's been a long while since he's indulged in anything this fragile.

Even so, the warrior is undaunted. Simply knowing that Sidurgu wants to try makes a muted giddiness settle in their chest.

“You won't. I promise.” Their smile is light, the words said with the confidence of someone who's saved the realms a thousand times over. “We’ll start slow, then.”

“And just where are we supposed to start?” He asks, the hint of frustrated desperation seeping into his strained voice. Where  _ could  _ they start, when the Warrior of Light has the entire star to save and a demon prowling the Holy See’s streets has naught but misfortune for them?

“Anywhere you want. We can start here, now. Before I’m called away again.” They pause, nudging closer. “If that's alright with you.”

Sidurgu is wavering again under their light - radiant as always, to the point where it makes him want to believe things won't turn for the worst. “I think… I’d like that. Maybe.” 

There’s a laugh from the warrior, a little dry and tinted by the flash of crystal light in their eyes. They're both adults here, and there's no rush for any of it.

The warrior closes the gap and Sidurgu meets them halfway. The sparks have finally caught, and at that, they smile against his lips. Sid’s hand cautiously cups their cheek, brushing a thumb over their jaw. His exploration is curious, honest, nothing heated. The warrior doesn’t press for anything more, simply enjoying the attention. 

They know he’s been wanting this for several moons and it shows in his clumsy, stuttered, eager movements. It makes the warrior breathe a happy sigh, their heart brimming. Sidurgu’s presence has always set them at ease. He’s made them feel less like a half-god and more like the adventurer they used to be, just someone trying to do something _ right. _ They appreciate any chance to be this close to him.

The warrior traces over one of his horns, their fingertips cataloging each curve and the way it's healed unevenly. He shivers underneath their touch, the slight graze of teeth skimming over the warrior’s bottom lip. Sid goes outright rigid when their hand caresses the scales framing his face - then lets loose an exhale through his nose because he's been holding his breath the entire time. They break apart for air, feeling warm breath mingle between them. The warrior admires the color tinting his pale skin, though they likely look the same.

The moment is interrupted by a sudden yawn from the warrior, who hadn't realized the day had been catching up with them.

“We should get some rest.” They say, standing from the couch and stretching. It's nearly dark in the room with how they've been neglecting the fire.

“You really think I can sleep now that I’ve got my godsdamned heart jumping in my throat?” Sidurgu mutters. The thrum of his pulse under his wrist proves as much when they make ready to tug him to his feet.

An impish grin splits across the warrior’s face. “You'd better. Rielle said she wants to take us to the market tomorrow, and I plan to put all the coin I’ve got to good use.”

Sidurgu follows when they pull him along to the bedroom. They’ve already taken to sharing a bed to not disturb Rielle when she’s asleep, but the warrior lets themselves inch closer than usual, watching the au ra’s eyes glow faintly in the dark as they both settle under the covers. They fall asleep to the sight and the warmth of Sidurgu’s body next to theirs.

-

Morning comes without incident, bringing with it the sun through the room’s dingy window. The warrior still holds in their heart the fondness from the night before when they see Sidurgu’s messy hair sticking out from his side of the bed.

…Well,  _ mostly _ without incident. The warrior wakes to Sid’s tail wrapped around their legs, something they find out only when they try to leave the bed and trip on themselves in the process. Sid squawks, the warrior yelps, and Rielle laughs when she finds them both tangled with the covers on the floor.


End file.
